The Lunacy of Rain
by darkmorsmordreheart
Summary: A happy ending to my Rain series.
1. The Letter

The Lunacy of Rain

**By darkmosmordreheart**

**Summary:** A happy ending to my Rain series.

**Warnings:** Slash, sex, and language---the same three elements that make up most of my stories.

**Disclaimer:** The character: not mine. The naughty things the characters do: all mine.

Dedicated to L, sorry it took so long for me to write it for you, love. _**–DMH**_

**_*_**

The Letter

_Harry,_

_I am in love with you. I know the words are exchanged between us upon each of our meetings, but I do not believe that you understand the extent of my love for you. I feel as if I've been waiting._

_I'm waiting, though I know what I'm waiting for will never come._

_We are still quite young, you see, so ending my wait should not be much of a hardship. I have the rest of my life to recollect myself. I feel so lost right now, but I'm sure that this feeling will cease eventually._

_You need to understand one thing that I've failed to tell you over the years. I've been in love with you for longer than you've realized. I've loved you for the entirety of my lifetime. Like so many others, I was in love with your image, but only at first. You were my savior. You protected us all, protected my father and I was so in love with your pure power and strength; to be able to be so strong at such a young age. My age. I was in awe of you._

_I must admit that I was slightly disappointed when I met you; what a small, strange little creature you were. Shy and ignorant of the world that adored you for protecting it all those years ago. And then you rejected me, so I waited._

_You have no idea how much I wanted you. Every year, I watched you grow; taller, more handsome, braver, stronger, powerful. I watched you become so desirable. Your power called me to you, as it did many others. I watched you with your many admirers and I envied them for being so honest with you about their emotions. They wanted you, but I wanted you more. To be honest, I was scared of you. What a coward I was. You and my father, I feared the most. The two causes of why I strive for attention, honor, and praise. I wanted him, my father, to be proud and for you to want me. The more I watched you, the more I learned, and wanted, and loved._

_I know that this may seem nothing more than a pathetic childhood crush. Believe me, it was, but it grew so much from that. I did fall in love with you, _truly_ in love with you a full year before that fateful night we spent together in the rain at the end of our fifth year._

_You were weeping over Cedric Diggory._

_You were dirty and bloody and shaking from cold. You were so scared, so vulnerable; a sight that steered so far from my hero image of you. My childhood crush was completely extinguished for you in that moment. You looked so weak, so cowardly. I was shocked. You, who faced magic many of us hadn't. You, who defeated a basilisk. You, who faced a mass murderer. You were weak._

_And in that moment, I had forgotten all you had done and all I wanted was to pull you into my arms and wipe the tears from your eyes. I wanted to comfort you. I wanted to protect you. I fell in love with you._

_You don't love me, not the way I love you. I realize that this will never happen, now or ever. I love you, with everything I am capable of loving you with, but I'm finished waiting. I fell asleep in your arms last night and I woke up cold and alone with nothing but my tears to keep me company. I refuse to wake up to their companionship again. I am finished waiting._

_I have to live now, so please, the next time it rains, do not come to me. Please stay away and allow me my life. I have spent more than enough time allowing yours, now it is time for mine._

_-D_

_*_

Ginny Potter shook her head at the mess that greeted her the moment she stepped through the front door. Toys and various articles of clothing were strewn across the floor along with muddy boots, wet slickers, and the occasional umbrella or two. She shook out her own umbrella and set it next to her dripping broom on the mat beside the door.

'_How Harry can stand flying in the rain,' _she thought as she slipped out of her slicker and boots, _'I'll never know.'_

She hoisted her rather large bag back onto her shoulder and, with a wave of her wand, sent the toys and wet garments back to where they were meant to be. A smile spread across her face at the tell-tale _crash!_ that told her exactly where her two boys were in the house. After climbing a flight of stairs and following the trail of broken action figures, she found the destructive duo in her bedroom petting Harry's snowy white owl, Callisto, in the midst of her fallen cage.

She smiled at the adorable sight a moment before planting a stern expression on her face. She lifted her wand and righted the fallen cage, gaining the immediate attention of the pair.

"Hi Mummy!" they both responded automatically at the sight of her, but only her four years old jumped up to greet her while James, her eldest opted to stay with the owl. She melted at the sight of her little one's slightly toothless grin and lifted little Albus into her arms. "Now what have you boys been up to all day that had your toys thrown all over the house?"

"We were playing war, Mummy," James explained. "There were many causalities on both sides."

"Obviously, but that sounds extremely noisy. I know Grandma wouldn't like that," Ginny mused as her son tangled his hand into her long auburn hair. "Where _is_ Grandma?"

"Daddy came home, so she left," the little war hero replied, smiling as Callisto leaned into his strokes.

"Daddy's home?" she exclaimed, automatically looking towards the window. She knew that he was _usually_ home this time of day, but it was still raining extremely hard. "How long has he been home?"

"He came home for lunch and was going to leave, but then this giant black owl came and gave him a letter, so he stayed home," James told her.

"The owl was _this_ big!" Albus announced excitedly in her arms, holding his own little arms out as wide as he could. She smiled and kissed the tip of his nose before setting him gently back down on the floor.

"Where is Lily?" They reported that Grandma Molly had put the two year old down for a nap after claiming their war uncivilized and barbaric and saying that she wanted the baby to have no part in it. "Where is Daddy?"

"In his office," they said together.

She left the pair, confident that Callisto could hold her own against the two and made her way down the stairs and to her husband's office, a small room just off the kitchen. The door was opened so she stood in the doorway and peeked in on him silently.

What a beautiful man she had married.

He sat on the floor, leaning back against a small sofa facing a large bay-window. His broad shoulders were hunched over what appeared to be a large box of letters that sat between each of his bent knees. His dark hair, just long enough to fall into his eyes, or rather, his glasses, glistened in the low light. From what she could see of his face, his expression was tight, his full lips drawn into a thin line, his brow furrowed in thought. Actually, the entirety of his body long, lithe body was filled with tension and it all seemed to stem from the lily-white piece of parchment he held in his slightly trembling hands.

"Harry?"

She noted that his instinctual reaction to her voice was to drop the letter in the box _before_ he looked at her. He ran a shaky hand through his spiky jet-black locks and smiled at her, barely halfheartedly. "Hello, luv."

"Hello, Harry," she replied, stepping into the room and sitting behind him on the comfy old red sofa. He responded by closing the box between his legs and taking out his wand to levitate it to a large trunk that automatically locked itself. "Is something wrong?"

"Of course not, just doing a bit of work," he told her, lifting himself from the floor and adjusting his glasses so that she couldn't get a good look at his eyes. He looked round the room awkwardly for a moment before deciding to rummage through the mess on his desk. She rose from the couch and moved behind him.

"Are you alright?" When he didn't respond, she grabbed onto his shoulders to spin him around to face her. He was trembling all over and he actually flinched when she reached up to remove his glasses. Her actions revealed dull green eyes that appeared red, irritated, and puffy. "Harry?"

"I'm alright," he told her, carefully avoiding her gaze. "I'm just a bit tired, is all."

She frowned, but nodded and ran a gentle hand down his cheek. "Perhaps you should get some rest."

He nodded and moved as if to leave the room, but she stopped him with a gentle kiss that took him three heartbeats to respond to. Then, he gave her another halfhearted grin and left.

*

_I have to live now . . ._

A storm rattled every window in the large, Godric's Hollow home. The wind whistled menacingly, thunder echoed, lightning flashed, but the storm was nothing compared to the turmoil in Harry Potter's heart.

He tossed and turned, his sweat-dampened body tangling in the thin sheets. His heartbeat was erratic as if he was running a marathon and not trying to rest. His tears left his cheeks as wet as the raindrops falling from the sky outside. His body tense, he sat up and moved to the edge of the bed, placing his head in his hands.

"Harry?" He looked over his shoulder slowly and squinted his eyes to see his wife through the tears and lack of glasses. She rose up to her knees and crawled to the center of the bed. "Are you alright?"

He merely nodded at the familiar question and turned his wet face away, towards the window. Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she crawled closer to Harry and she reached out to place a hand on each of his hunched shoulders.

He flinched.

She ignored the reaction and pulled herself closer to nuzzle his neck. "Oh, Harry."

Neither of the pair knew how long they stayed like this, but, gradually, Harry relaxed in her arms. She tightened said arms to ease his violent trembles.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," he lied.

She pressed a kiss to his shoulder and murmured against his sweaty skin, "Is it over? Did you end it?"

He was quiet for a moment; a long moment. Just as she came to the conclusion that he was going to ignore her question, as he had many others before, he took a deep breath and sighed, "It's over, Ginny."

Relief poured through her, lifted her, warmed her. She tightened her embrace briefly and kissed his cheek. "I'm glad."

For a moment he tensed, then turned to her, meeting her light brown gaze with his green one. "I love you, Ginny."

"I love you, too, Harry," she replied automatically, pushing her lips to his. When she pulled away, a single tear slid down his cheek, only to be wiped away by her quick hand.

He pressed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes to her imploring gaze. "Can I … May I make love to you?"

In the next moment, thunder roared and lightning illuminated the room. She ignored the storm, as she ignored many a storm, and moved closer to her husband. "Will you be making love to me?"

He was silent for three seconds. "Yes."

She slid her arms around his neck, covered his mouth with her own, and, as they fell back onto the soft covers, she opted to forget the fact that he was not the one to end it.

*

**Author's Note:** I hope no one is reading this like **WHAT?!** I'm trying to write this so that new readers don't have to read the other three stories to get this, but you know what, I don't care. GO READ THE OTHER THREE STORIES!!! And don't worry people, this will get better. Remember that saying, things have to get worse before they can get better or whatever, it's like that, so just keep repeating that phrase in the next few chapters when I make you cry. Did anybody miss me? LOL! _**-DMH**_


	2. The Hurt

The Hurt

Oh God, how she wanted to end the tears!

She had had enough of these tears; the _same_ tears that she had been wiping away for the past fourteen years. So endlessly sad, every time she wiped a salty drop away, it was only replaced by another. And another. And another.

The whites of those sad grey eyes were bloodshot as they produced tear after tear.

"I don't think I did the right thing."

"Oh hush," Pansy Parkinson chided, pushing her fingers through the head of silky white-blond locks that rested in her lap. Even without looking, she could still feel the salty drops through the fabric of her skirt. "There are no bad decisions on the road to happiness."

"That sounds amazingly selfish," the blond sniffled.

"It is," she agreed, threading her fingers in the soft hair once again. "But don't you think it's about time for you to be a bit selfish?"

The blond sniffled again. "The last time I was selfish, he got a woman pregnant and married her."

"Why do you never look to the positive sides of situations?"

At his friend's sighed question, Draco Malfoy jumped up and crossed the room to pace. "Because there are no positive sides for me!"

Pansy watched from the couch as he paced back and forth, tugging his hair harshly and knowing his lips.

"I did not do the right thing … I should owl him."

"No!" Pansy shouted at him, halting his movements. "Don't you dare. I refuse to allow you to let this choice moment to finally get away from him to slip through your bony white fingers –"

"My fingers aren't bony," he protested weakly, quite shocked by her outburst.

"– and one would think," she continued, "that after _all_ he put you through, you would be _happy_ to be rid of him!"

"I _am_ happy!" Draco insisted, wiping at his freshest batch of tears.

"No, that's hysteria you're feeling," the brunette informed him, carefully examining her nails. "You must be daft … going mad. After everything he's put you through, you still want to go back to him?"

"I don't see any benefits to leaving him," he countered softly, leaning back against the wall.

"Then was everything you wrote in that letter just a crock of bullshit?" she snapped, clenching her hand into an angry fist.

A look of pure fury blazed into his eyes. "You read the letter?!"

"I sure did," she confirmed proudly, standing and crossing the room to stand before him. "What happened to living your own life, Draco? Hmm? What happened to being tired of waiting?"

"I lied," he announced shortly. She opened her mouth to speak and gaped a moment before closing it with a snap. "I love him, Pansy. I _love_ him and I would do anything for him –"

"Lord knows that you've already reduced yourself to his whore," she added in a flat, bored tone. She was surprised that all he did was narrow his eyes at her.

"You don't understand what I feel," he growled through his teeth. "Sometimes … you have to make sacrifices for love."

She closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them, she lifted herself up, onto her toes, and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. "I may not understand how you feel, but I think I might be beginning to. If I was in your position, my love, I would be so lonely. To be so in love ... To be so in love and to be almost alone in that love, it must be Hell."

"He loves me," he told her, his face furrowed in restrained anger.

"Not enough to sacrifice."

"Don't you dare use my own words against me."

"Then don't _you_ dare lie to me!" She pushed him back against the wall and looked him straight in the eyes. "I am not stupid. I know why you wrote that letter, I know why you sent it! If you were so willing to sacrifice, so willing to wait _for something that will never come_, then why the hell did you write a letter in the first place?!"

He closed his eyes and tried to turn his face away from hers, but she lifted her hands to cup each of his cheeks. "I don't know."

"Don't lie, my love. You know why … You hurt, Draco." He opened his eyes to see tears flowing from hers. "You wrote it because you hurt and for the past decade and a half, you have been hurting. And one morning … One morning, you woke up alone and finally acknowledged that you didn't want to hurt anymore." She released him and wiped her cheeks. "You hurt because of Harry Potter and now, when the strength to be free of the pain finally arises, you are too scared to seize it."

"I am not scared," he told her, moving away from her to settle in a nearby armchair.

"You _are_," she insisted, sitting on the overstuffed chair's armrest. "You don't want to be alone … Anymore alone than you already are."

He looked up at her sadly through the thick strands of his silvery hair. "I'm so tired of it, but how do you … you have Gregory."

"And before I did, I had never been lonelier in my life." She smiled and brushed his hair from his eyes. How young he looked, like a child. Perhaps that was what gave her the idea. "You should visit your mother."

"My mother?" he echoed.

"Yes. Maybe a visit with your mother can help you understand where I'm coming from," Pansy said, nodding her head at her genius even as her blond friend frowned at her randomness.

*

The newly reformed prison of Azkaban appeared to be all that it was advertised to be. New cells, new lavatories, new hospice areas and dining halls. This prison was no longer the depressing cesspool of corruption and evil it used to be.

It was now just a perfectly fitted mask.

One just had to learn to ignore the screams they heard behind the pastel painted walls and the cheap, contemporary artwork.

In the Knowledge In Soul Situations wing, also known as the KISS wing, an old witch by the name of Madam Fokus grumbled to herself as she usually did this time of day, or any time of day, really.

What a stressful job she had, having to serve as both secretary and caretaker to a wing of soulless prisoners. Few came to visit any of the four individuals held in this section of the prison. There would have been more prisoners – dementors oh so love to kiss people – but families had written in, demanding the right to give their loved ones death rather than a soulless future. So here Madam Fokus was, in her tiring, stressful, quiet job of guarding four lost souls, but only three forgotten bodies.

The old witch looked up from her grumbling when she heard echoes of steel toes hitting the stone floor of the long hallway before her. A young man was strolling in, tall and fair and dressed in a robe such a light grey that it touched on silver. She was reminded of the tales she would read as a child of white knights. He had sharp features; prominent, slanted cheekbones, strong jaw with a pointed chin, and a severely straight patrician nose. He looked vaguely familiar.

He stopped his long strides when he finally reached her desk and, as he peeled black leather gloves from his hands, he arched a brow at her, inquiring her to ask to assist him.

"Oh!" the flustered old witch exclaimed. "How may I help you today, sir?"

"I was wondering if my mother was here," he said, his voice strong and confident.

"Your mother?" She furrowed her already wrinkled brow at him. "Cornelia Codswallop?"

"No, Narcissa Malfoy. I was told that she was here. That she visits frequently," he explained quietly, even though the tic in his jaw showed that his patience was being tested.

The old witch's dark eyes brightened behind the thick lenses of her glasses as they registered recognition of his features compared to his mother. "Yes, Lady Malfoy visits every day, almost. She's the only one that ever does," she said sadly, standing and strolling to the hallway on her right, beckoning him to follow.

She continued to grumble sadly to herself as she led him down the long hallway, though she occasionally said a name to indicate the prisoners. He soon learned that not only Cornelia resided here, but also, poor Barty Crouch and, most surprisingly, Delores Umbridge as well. Turns out she tried to control one dementor too many.

Finally, they reached the last room in the hall.

"Have a nice visit, Mister Malfoy," the elderly witch said, patting him reassuringly on the back.

"Hopefully," he replied, pushing the door open and walking through.

The room wasn't at all as he expected. He expected a bed, but not a great one with a grand, sweeping canopy. He had expected a table, maybe a chair or two, but nothing like the strong, dark reddish cherry wood furniture he was presented with. The room even had a view of the ocean; highly unnecessary, yes, but beautiful nonetheless.

"Draco?"

"Mother," he responded automatically, turning around at the sound of her melodic voice. "Hello."

Pale cerulean eyes filled to the brim and overflowed with tears as a mother rushed into the arms of her son.

"Draco, oh Draco, my beautiful boy. How I've missed you," she sobbed out into the front of his robes.

"And I, you," he replied, tightening his hold on her and looking above her head to the figure across the room.

She looked up at him with her teary yet happy eyes, the tip of her pointed nose a delicate pink, and smiled. "I'm just so overjoyed that you've decided to visit finally. Are you ready, my love?"

"Yes. I think that I finally am," he told her, pulling away from her embrace and crossing the room to sit in a comfortably large leather chair. He took a deep breath and raised his pale silver eyes to a dull grey gaze. "Hello, Father."

*

**Author's Note:** What's up with everybody freaking out?! I said there was going to be a happy ending; we just haven't got to it yet. Some things have to be resolved, some loose ties cut or ... tied or whatever. Just bear with me people. Don't be mad, be patient. Draco and Harry's time will come, in good time. _**-DMH**_


	3. The Pain

The Pain

"Excuse me, ma'am, is Draco Malfoy in today?"

"I'm sorry Mister Potter," the receptionist said in a clipped tone, obviously not sorry at all; she didn't even look up from the long piece of parchment she was writing on. "Mister Malfoy isn't in yet today. Perhaps you should make an appointment."

"No, er, that's alright. I will try to owl him later," Harry told her even though she obviously didn't care. "Do you know when he'll be in?"

"No, I don't," she replied drily with a roll of her eyes under heavily hooded eyelids. "I'll tell him you stopped by when he does."

"No, no, that's alright. I'd rather you not," he hastily told her, finally earning her gaze. Her thinly drawn eyebrow lifted faintly as she looked at him.

"Do you need anything else, Mister Potter?"

"No, thank you," he answered quietly, looking past her to the closed door of Draco's office. "No thanks."

The brunet walked away from the receptionist desk towards the gold elevator, as soon as he was inside, he prepared his uneasy stomach for the eventual lurch he always felt in the enchanted device. He closed his eyes as soon as it moved into motion; he didn't want to see the swirl of colors the painted walls and the golden doors created. The last time he had watched this solemn morning, the motion sickness caused him to lean over a toilet for at least half-an-hour. Even with his eyes closed, even with just remembering getting sick earlier that morning, he felt a large lump in the back of his throat. He was tired and sick and disgusted with himself.

And all because he had slept with his wife the night before.

Correction, he had made love to her. As if she was Draco. No, he didn't imagine Draco as he made loved to her; he just touched her as if she was Draco. It was so natural to do so. After the letter, his heart felt so torn, he wanted someone to fix it. Draco never hurt him like that; he was always the one to fix it. He had always been the one and now, Harry couldn't go to him to ease the pain.

So he substituted his wife.

"Hello Harry."

He opened his eyes and looked at the tall redheaded man that stood in the elevator's opened door. "Oh. 'Lo Ron."

"Is something wrong, mate?" his fellow auror asked as he stepped in beside his friend, pushing the button that Harry had moments before.

"Just a bit queasy, is all. I'm feeling better than I was," he lied; if anything, he felt worse.

"Well, I hope you feel better around dinner," Ron replied as the golden doors flew open.

Harry nodded as relief poured over him as he stepped from the confining box, but soon his best friend's comment caught up him. "Dinner?"

Ron arched a reddish-orange brow and gave him a quizzical glance. "Yeah, the dinner Ginny planned. 'Mione and I got the letter about it this morning. You didn't know about it? She seemed really excited about it."

"Oh yeah, I must have forgotten." Harry rubbed his temples as they stopped in front of Ron's office. "I need to talk to her. I'll see you later, mate."

"Alright," Ron said, a look of concern still gracing his features. "I hope you feel better, bloke. You're not acting yourself today."

Harry nodded slightly and smiled. "Don't worry. I'll talk to you later and if not, I'll see you at dinner."

Ron nodded and moved into his office as Harry walked to his own. He reached the large wooden door and closed it soundlessly before he moved to sit behind his desk. He turned his chair towards the large fireplace and began to fiddle with the pot of floo powder beside it. He scooped up a handful, intending to become a fiery head in his wife's office at the Daily Prophet, but he allowed his hand to drop and, instead, watched the tiny grains of the sand-like powder trail out of his grasp.

*

Lucius Malfoy had received the Dementor's kiss on Draco's eighteenth birthday.

It was quite the affair, actually. The Malfoy family, the three, had all dressed in their finest robes, embroidered with thread of the shimmering hair of both unicorn and veela and accompanied by shoes of dragon skin and jewelry of the rarest goblin gold. Lucius was the most resplendent of them all; tall and regal, demanding even as he was led to that singular chair in the middle of that massive room. His son and wife had stood on either side of him; Draco staring blankly ahead, his youthful face void of emotion and somehow making him seem so much older, and Narcissa … Lucius' precious goddess flower; she cried silent tears that crawled down her pale cheeks like crystal pearls.

"Don't say goodbye to me," she had begged her husband that day. "Don't say goodbye."

He did not reply, not because he had not the words, but because he was not certain he could trust his voice. He did not want anyone to hear the tears he had kept so gallantly off his face. Instead, he gestured to Draco and the young man knelt down before him. He cupped both the boy's harshly gaunt cheeks and kissed his pale forehead after pushing his pale blond locks out of his way. Silvery eyes shone up at him, briefly, in that moment with pain and fear, but soon the mask their family was so proud of reappeared and his son, his wonderful son pulled away to stare into the void once more. Narcissa kneeled before him without having to be asked and he kissed her and kissed her and kissed her, branding her taste to the memory he was soon to lose.

"I love you," he whispered, for in a whisper it was hard to cry and the pair kissed once more before Draco pulled his mother away.

So Lucius had sat in the middle of that room, surrounded by the darkness, but feeling hundreds upon hundreds of eyes upon him; human and not, his wife's and his child's, his enemies and his secret allies. He lifted his pointed chin and ignored his goddess flower's cry from behind the veil of darkness when the hooded creature appeared. The dementor slid before him and stopped not five feet away from him, tilting its hooded head to better take in Narcissa's cries and sobs like an appetizer. Finally, the creature, so hooded and ominous as Death, but without the welcomed promise, moved closer to Lucius and reached out both hands to him. It cupped his face gently, as would one do one's lover, and its stale breath breezed across his face. His wife's screams became more and more apparent and a single tear slid from his right eye. He cursed the eye and opened his mouth, ready to receive what he had been eluding all these years. The creature shivered with pleasure, its hands tightening its hold as if Lucius was fighting it, and moved closer. Lucius felt the pressure of the creature's mouth and felt the agony of the suffering of a million years and felt the physical manifestation of his wife's screams and felt …

Narcissa was silent when the dementor was sent away. She said nothing, so Draco was addressed with the papers regarding his father' treatment after the _event_. Instead, the woman moved to her husband, who was sitting all alone in his chair, still staring after the dementor who had so recently disappeared. When she was once again before him, she wiped at the saliva sliding from the corner of his mouth and knelt down before him, as she had unquestioningly done before. She placed her head on his knee and lifted his warm hand to place it on her tear-dampened cheek. And, then, she closed her eyes.

*

Draco thought of his eighteenth birthday when he looked into his father's dull grey eyes.

His mother chattered on around him – she had become so talkative since his father was quieted – and straightened things that did not need to be straightened, she tidied things that did not need to be tidied, and all the while, Draco stared at his father … Or at least the shell of his father. His father had past been yanked from this pitiful body, and yet its hair was perfectly combed, presumably by his mother, its clothing was cleaned and pressed – again, presumably by his mother – and it had a lavish bed to sleep in at night and expensive chairs to lounge in during the day. He frowned at the knowledge that his mother, petite and delicate as she was, put upon herself to move this deadweight around.

"Mother?" he asked softly, reaching across the table and taking his father's hand, a feat he had never dared to do before. The palm in his was warm and yet …

"Yes, darling," she purred, sliding in the chair beside her shell of a husband and smiling at the limp hand Draco held in his own.

"Why do you do this?"

Confusion clouded her beautiful face. "What do you mean?"

"I want to know why you coddle … this man," he said in substitution for the word "it".

The confusion on her face turned to agitation as her normally smooth brow furrowed. "Because this man is your father and my husband –"

"It is not my father," Draco replied sharply and his mother fell into silence. He released the living hand from his grip and announced, "My father died eleven years ago."

"He did not," Narcissa hissed sharply, the sound of her tortured voice echoing through the room and piercing straight through her son's chest. "Don't you ever say such a thing, ever again."

"He can't see you anymore, Mother," Draco said slowly, turning away from his mother and the … thing across the table. He heard the catch in her throat and managed to swallow around the lump in his throat. "Did you love him this much? This desperately? Do you think he wants you to suffer this way?"

"But I'm not suffering," his mother's suddenly small voice countered. "I'm not. I swear it. I do love him … more than anything … I would do anything …"

"You'll never have him," Draco said softly, preparing to say the words he dreaded to say; preparing to voice what Pansy had sent him there to realize. "You'll never have all of him … No matter what you do; he'll never truly be yours ever again."

He stood without waiting for the reply he did not really believe his mother was in the state to give and walked to the doorway, his shoes tapping loudly in the large room, the sound following each step until he felt haunted … or hunted. He reached the doorway and turned to give his mother a final glance.

She was beautiful … She always was, even in tears. They dripped down her cheeks and dripped onto the table silently. She had taken the living hand Draco hand abandoned and clutched it between each of her own, pressing the warm, yet cold thing to her chest, over her heart. She was so beautiful. Lucius' goddess flower, willing anyone to sit and wile away their life just to stare at her … and she just sat in this dank room dressed up with money and useless things with a thing that could never admire her again. And she wept as she continued to pull herself apart.

Petal by petal.

"We have to let go, Mother," Draco said. And then he left.

*

**Author's Note:** Hey, so I finally updated … and it only took a year … Sorry about the shortness of this chapter, but I felt like it did not need any more added to it. Well, thanks for reading and rereading because I know the people that have this on story alert sure forgot what happened. _**– DMH**_


End file.
